Chapter 2: Dylan is Fucking Helene?

Freya’s POV

Dylan turned his head. He slowed his thrusts just enough to look over his shoulder, lips curling into a lazy, satisfied smirk. He didn’t pull out. He simply straightened up slightly, still inside Helene, his thick cock glistening as it slid halfway out before plunging back in with a wet sound that made my stomach lurch.

“Well, damn,” Dylan drawled, voice thick with lust. “You’re quicker than I thought, baby.”

Helene laughed beneath him—low, throaty, and cruel. She hooked her legs tighter around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper. “Told you she’d come looking eventually.”

The bouquet I'd been clutching slipped from my fingers, petals scattering like confetti from a cruel joke.

“Dylan… Helene… what the fuck—”

Dylan finally eased out of Helene with a slow, deliberate drag, letting me see every inch of him—hard, slick, veins pulsing, completely unashamed. He stood up beside the bed, cock jutting proudly forward, still wet from my sister. No attempt to cover himself. No flinch of guilt. He just wrapped one hand loosely around the base and gave himself a lazy stroke while staring straight at me.

“You look good in white, Frey,” he said, voice mocking. “Too bad it’s wasted tonight.”

Helene rolled onto her side, propped on one elbow, legs still parted so I could see the mess between them. She licked her lips, eyes glittering. “Don’t be mad, big sis. You always said you wanted a man who knew what he was doing. Well… he does.”

Before I could speak, Helene slid off the bed and walked straight to Dylan. She didn’t rush. She sauntered—hips swaying, breasts bouncing slightly, completely naked and owning every second of it. When she reached him, she turned so her back was to me, bent slightly at the waist, and reached between her legs. With two fingers she spread herself open, then guided Dylan’s cock right back inside her in one smooth motion.

A long, exaggerated moan spilled from her throat as she took him to the hilt.

“There we go,” Helene purred, starting to rock back against him. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Dylan gripped her hips, eyes never leaving me. “See this, Frey? This is what you’ve been missing. She squeezes like a fucking vice.”

They started moving together—slow at first, then harder. Helene’s ass slapped against his pelvis with every thrust. She reached one hand back to grab his thigh, the other sliding between her legs to rub herself while he fucked her.

“Look at her face,” Helene gasped between moans. “She’s actually shocked. Cute.”

Dylan chuckled darkly, slamming in deeper. “Bet she’s wet right now. Jealous little cunt.”

My knees buckled. I grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling. Tears burned my eyes, but the rage was hotter. “You’re both sick,” I whispered.

Helene turned her head, still getting pounded, hair sticking to her sweaty cheek. “Sick? Nah. Honest. You should try it sometime, maybe then he wouldn’t have to sneak around with me.”

Dylan groaned, pace quickening. “Fuck, Hel—gonna come soon if you keep talking like that.”

“Do it,” Helene hissed, grinding back harder. “Fill me up while she watches. Let her see what a real wife gets.”

Dylan groaned, fingers threading into Helene’s hair. “See? This is what you could never do.”

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. The sounds—the wet slapping, the filthy words, the complete lack of shame were carving something permanent inside me. My knees hit the floor before I even realized I was falling.

The wedding gown pooled around me like spilled milk, heavy and mocking. Tears streamed hot down my cheeks, blurring Dylan’s face as he slowed his thrusts but didn’t stop—still buried inside Helene, still rocking lazily like this was nothing more than an inconvenient interruption.

“Why?” The word tore out of me, cracked and raw. “Why are you doing this to me Dylan? What did I ever do to deserve this?”

I looked up at him searching for the boy who once held me through thunderstorms, who promised me forever under cheap string lights. All I saw was a stranger with cold eyes and a cruel half-smile.

Dylan laughed.

Not loud, not dramatic—just a low, amused sound that sliced deeper than any scream could have.

He pulled out of Helene slowly, deliberately, letting me see every glistening inch before tucking himself away with casual indifference. Helene stayed pressed against the wall, smirking, legs still parted like she was posing for a photoshoot.

“Why?” Dylan echoed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Because I never loved you, Freya.”

The words landed like a fist to the sternum. I gasped, hand flying to my chest as if I could physically hold my heart together.

“I stayed because it was easy,” he continued, voice flat, almost bored. “You were safe and loyal. You never asked for too much. But love?” He snorted. “I never felt that. Not once.”

My sobs came harder now—ugly, and choking sounds I couldn’t control.

“And the sex…” Dylan shook his head, almost pitying. “God, you were awful. Like fucking a rag doll—limp, cold, and no reaction. You just lay there. No moans, no movement, nothing. Helene?” He glanced at my stepsister with open hunger. “She actually makes me feel something. She knows how to move, how to take it, how to make a man lose his mind. You? You could never satisfy me. Not even close.”

Helene laughed softly, sliding a hand down Dylan’s chest possessively.

I rocked forward, forehead almost touching the carpet, body shaking so violently the pearls on her veil rattled.

Ten years.

Ten years of love I thought was mutual.

Ten years of giving everything—my trust, my body, my future—reduced to a rag doll.

I lifted my head just enough to meet his eyes, mascara streaking black rivers down my cheeks.

They didn’t care. They both continued their grotesque display, their eyes locked on me with a mix of defiance and amusement. Helene's hand trailed down Dylan's back, urging him on, while he grinned like a predator savoring its kill.

"Stop," I choked out, my voice gaining strength. "Just... stop this shit now!"

Helene propped herself up on her elbows, her nudity unashamed. "Why? Jealous, sis? Dylan has always loved me alone. You just happened to come between us."

Dylan disengaged briefly, sitting up with a casual stretch, as if this were a mere intermission. "Frey, yunno, we've been secretly dating for two years now. Tonight was supposed to be our little send-off before I committed to the 'boring life' with you."

The revelation hit like a slap. He's been cheating all along. For two years!

My hands balled into fists, nails digging into my palms. The lack of remorse fueled a fire within me—rage replacing the initial shock. "You're both disgusting. Tonight is our wedding for crying out loud!"

“Honestly, Frey, you should thank us. Now you don't have to pretend anymore." With that, she pulled him back down, their lips meeting in a deliberate, taunting kiss. The sounds resumed, louder, as if to drown out Freya's presence.

Something snapped inside me. I lunged forward, grabbing a vase from the nightstand and hurling it at the wall above them. Shards rained down, but they barely flinched. "Get out!" I screamed. “Both of you—get the fuck out of this room.”

Dylan pulled out suddenly, cock slick and throbbing. He stroked himself once, twice, eyes locked on my tear-streaked face. “Your room? Sweetheart, I paid for half this wedding. I’ll fuck wherever I want.”

Helene turned around, still dripping, and dropped to her knees in front of him. She took him into her mouth without hesitation—loud, sloppy, making sure I heard every suck and moan. Dylan threaded his fingers through her hair, guiding her deeper while staring at his bride.

Helene pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his tip. She grinned up at him, then at me. “Big sis, not gonna lie but Dylan's cock tastes so great. You can come and try it to.”

They both burst into a loud mocking laughter.

My humiliation burned so hot it turned to rage. My vision tunneled. The wedding gown felt like a shroud now, heavy and mocking. Every sound they made—every slap, every moan—carved itself into my memory.

That was the moment something inside me finally broke—not into more tears, but into cold, burning clarity.

I straightened. Wiped my face with the back of my hand. Voice low and steady now.

“You’re both going to regret this.”

Dylan snorted, still stroking himself lazily. “What are you gonna do? Cry to Mommy and Daddy?”

I didn’t answer. I simply turned, walked out of the suite, and closed the door behind me with a soft click.

I turned and walked out, heels clicking on marble like gunshots. The hallway blurred through tears, but my steps didn’t falter.

Then I stopped suddenly.

Wait. The earlier moans echoing from this very corridor.

There are security cameras. A thought flashed my mind. A cold mocking smile spread across my lips.

I immediately changed direction, lifted my skirts and ran toward the venue’s control room. The security guard on duty looked up, startled at the bride bursting in, mascara streaked, face flushed with rage.

“CCTV footage,” I said, voice flat, deadly calm. “Hallway outside Helene’s suite. Now.”

The guard hesitated only a second before pulling up the feed.

There it was—clear, timestamped, and undeniable.

Dylan and Helene in the hallway, only minutes ago. Hands roaming, mouths fused, Helene’s leg hooked around his waist as he pressed her against the wall, grinding shamelessly before disappearing into the room.

My hands shook as I copied the file to a USB drive the guard silently handed me.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Back in the ballroom, the guests were restless. Whispers had turned to open speculation. My step mom looked smug. My Dad looked uncomfortable. Helene and Dylan were still missing.

I walked straight to the projector control booth.

The technician started to protest, but I silenced him with one look.

I plugged in the drive.

The massive screen behind the altar flickered to life.

The hallway footage began to play.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Phones came out instantly. Someone shrieked. Someone else laughed in disbelief.

I stepped to the microphone.

My voice rang out, clear and cold.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said calmly, “the wedding is canceled.”

I waited for the murmurs to quiet.

“Here’s why.”

I let the footage run—every kiss, every grope, every heated glance between my fiancé and my stepsister—projected twenty feet high for the entire elite of Emeralda City to see.

Then I spoke again.

“My fiancé and my stepsister chose to fuck each other on our wedding day. Enjoy the show.”